Seven Devils
by AutumnSkyy
Summary: He was a devil. She believed herself to be a saint. Surely, she could be the one to save his blackened soul.
1. Stray Cat

**A/N:** Okay, I wasn't going to upload this since it's just a growing idea but I thought, "Why the hell not?" See what you guys think. So low and behold, another story I'll take months to update! lol

 **SEVEN DEVILS**

 **.**

 **1**

 **STRAY CAT**

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Briarcliff Manor stood tall and proud; a menacing building emerging from the trees. Miles far from the city of Boston, the institution sat alone amongst acres of woods, shunned and forgotten from the rest of society. Like a sickly secret that housed humanity's imperfections, best kept hidden.

The air around the manor smelled of pine and earth, there was a lingering scent of rotten meat that occasionally came with the breeze but had no exact or visible place of origin. Those who were unlucky enough to be employed at such a place of disgrace were used to the smell and deemed it to come from the many putrid bodies that called the building home.

Men and women, filthy and wearing tattered uniforms roamed the halls and filled the rooms, screaming, crying and blubbering nonsense day and night. The sounds were almost as horrid as the many smells. They were enough to make a sane person go mad. The walls were covered in scratches from patients in fits; the floors were often smeared with questionable liquids that were cleaned multiple times in half-hearted attempts by orderlies that weren't paid enough to deal with the daily mediocrity of such a hell.

And indeed Briarcliff was hell but it did not compare to the smaller hellhole that sat across the road. St. Martin's Home for Wayward Youth sat promptly on the property just across from Briarcliff. A Victorian style home with it's own aura of formidable madness despite the fact that it was many years younger than its counterpart but the Catholic Church ran both homes for the mentally and criminally insane. The difference between Briarcliff and St. Martin's was that St. Martin's inhabitants were far younger.

Ranging from the ages of three to eighteen years old, St. Martin's was the home of children with both physical and mental disabilities, abandoned by the world that was supposed to accept them and protect them from the evil that would abuse their vulnerability. Children deemed too "rowdy" or "difficult" were also housed in St. Martin's. These children had also been thrust from society, branded as troublemakers and unable to thrive amongst the population. Future serial killers and rapists, thieves and degenerates, dumped with those crippled by other maladies, unable to ever leave the walls until they became of age to move across the road.

The smells of St. Martin's were far different than those of Briarcliff's. The place reeked of unwashed bodies, excrement and vomit, urine and putrid milk. No matter how much the small staff of nuns and orderlies attempted to clean, there were far too many children to keep up with.

The sight of the children were enough to make any sane person weak to the stomach. Naked or dirty clothed boys and girls sat on the wooden floor, rocking themselves back and forth. Some were covered in urine or feces, sometimes both, unwilling or unable to use the facilities by themselves.

A young boy with Down syndrome stood in the corner, smacking himself on the head, blubbering nonsense. His name was Timothy; otherwise a very helpful to the staff and bright young boy, he often succumbed to bouts of terrible fits that the nuns had started to ignore until he managed to calm himself down.

Another child walked up and down the rec room repeating the same phrases. The more mentally capable children sat around, lazily playing checkers or cards. A nun calmed down a crying child that had just arrived but a few days before. Dominique had made its way into the rec room of St. Martin's just as it had haunted the one in Briarcliff.

Down the hall from the rec room was a set of double cherry wooden doors. The majority of the children stayed clear of the doors while some were always drawn to it. Behind the double doors was the office of the head and founder of St. Martin's.

Jude Martin herself sat at her desk, looking over the death certificate of a teenage boy that had hung himself down in the cellar. None of the orderlies had any idea how he had snuck out of his quarters but he had done so and in the process obtained sheets from the laundry room, which he used to hang himself. He had been dead for a few hours before one of the nuns came upon him.

Her blood-curdling scream was still echoing in Jude's mind. She shook her head, "Oh, my precious Mother, bless this lost child. Welcome him into yer arms." She glanced up at a painting of the Virgin Mary that hung on the wall.

There was a rapid knock on her door and Jude gave a heavy sigh, "What now…Come in!"

Sister Marion peered her head into the room, "Sister?"

"What is it?"

A sudden look of worry crossed her wide green eyes. She appeared as if she had seen Satan himself.

"Well?" Jude pressed, unable to stand the suspense.

"He's back."

Jude's face grew hard and her lips tightened into a straight line. She stood to her feet. "Lord give me the strength." She said to herself as she followed Sister Marion out of the room.

.

The sound of a struggle came from the foyer of the Victorian house. Jude came down the wooden staircase, her hand on the rail and eyes down below at the scene unfolding before her. Sister Marion followed close after her with a bit of hesitation. Sister Jude had told her multiple times to never let the children see fear in her.

"They smell it like dogs." She had said.

When Sister Jude reached the foyer floor she crossed her arms, "Well, well, well. Who do we have here?"

She landed her eyes upon a young twelve-year-old boy dressed in stolen clothes already covered in dirt and torn at the knees. His arm was in the tight grasp of a police officer. Two orderlies stood by, followed by another nun who watched with attentive eyes while two small children stood at her feet, grasping at her habit.

The boy yanked his arm from the officer's grasp but Earl, one of the strongest orderlies snatched him by the shoulders before he could scamper away.

"Back so soon?" Jude asked him.

The boy stared back at Jude with enraged cobalt eyes. Eyes like ice. Cold, dark and menacing. So young and yet filled with so much rage. Jude could see the damage done upon his young face, years of abuse, cruelty and neglect were clear in his features. His bottom lip was busted and swollen and a purple ring appeared under his right eye, softly fading. The boy was wild. Mangy. Like a stray cat with no home. He had no respect, no remorse and no understanding for those around him. He had abandoned his religion and his God and all hope but Jude believed she could save the boy. His young soul could be salvaged.

"Earl, let the boy go." Jude told the orderly who raised a brow at the Sister but she insisted so he obliged.

The boy yanked his arms from Earl's grasp and stepped away, practically frothing at the mouth, staring back at him with daggers. He then looked at the officer and spit on the floor before his feet.

"Oh, enough of that, boy." Jude told him, waving away the officer while Sister Marion went to speak with him.

The boy slowly looked from Earl to Jude, setting those angry eyes back upon her.

"Now, now, Mr. Morgan, there is no use for all of this." Jude waved her hand about, "You're home now and I suggest you get comfortable."

The boy let his eyes fall to the dirty ground, muttering words under his breath.

"What was that?"

Johnny Morgan's ice blue eyes met Jude's from beneath his glowering brow. " _Fuck. Off_." The words seeped through his lips like acid.

Jude sighed, "Ya never learn, do ya, boy?" She looked up at the orderlies, "Earl, Jim, please take the boy to the tubs."

The two men grabbed the boy from each arm and dragged him up the stairs. The boy screamed and kicked about, fighting every step of the way. Jude stood at the bottom of the foyer, watching them go up the stairs, "Maybe a cold bath will cool the demons within you, child!"

Sister Marion stood at her side, "Are you sure about this, Sister?"

Jude kept her eyes up above, "Fear not, Sister. God only gives us what we can handle."

She lowered her head and followed the boy's screams of profanity up the staircase.


	2. Lesser Dead

Don't own AHS

A/N: This was long overdue for an update. For any update actually lol

2.

LESSER DEAD

There was a loud uproar that morning in the mess hall, bright and early like clock work. St. Jude's never knew a moment of peace. Not even during the long and cold nights. There were always demons ringing bells in the night. Bells that would wake the dead.

The orderlies were the first ones to run in when all hell broke loose. They found the cause of the trouble: the boy, Johnny Morgan, was perched on top of the French boy who was only older than him by a year or so. Johnny sat on the French boy's chest, bringing down fist upon fist with an unrelenting savage fury that burned like wildfire.

Carl was the one to pull Johnny off the other boy named Thomas. Thomas wiped his bloody mouth with the back of his hand and spit blood upon the mess hall floor. "Va te faire enculer!" he spat out. Thomas only spoke French. He refused to speak English no matter how much they believed that he understood it. They knew he could but alas, he refused for whatever reasons he had.

"Fuck you!" Johnny spat back, being held back as he kicked and desperately tried to wail on Thomas again. "You piece of shit!"

The rest of the children present burst in panic and excitement. One girl laughed loudly to herself while another boy rocked back and forth, terrified by the scene before him. It took one of the nuns to calm him down.

Earl helped Thomas up to his feet, "T'as pas de couilles..." He spat another wad of blood on the floor but held his ground, challenging the stray cat that had just been dropped off from the streets the day before.

"What in the heaven's is happening here?" Sister Jude's voice boomed through the mess hall.

The children fell into silence or deep whispers, obviously afraid of her presence.

"Of course it is." She almost chuckled to herself when she saw who the culprit was. "Of course it had to be ya." She stood before Johnny. "Mr. Morgan. Now, can you enlighten me of what Mr. Walker could have done to bother ya so?"

Jude knew the Walker boy kept to himself. He was a well functioning child with only minor behavioral problems. He was there because his mother had killed a woman and other institutions found his lack of english language difficult to deal with. St. Jude's was apparently the perfect place for a child like him. They really lived in ignorant times.

Johnny glared at the French boy, "Piece of shit."

"Ta gueule!" Thomas spat back.

"Enough!" Jude shouted, stomping her foot on the wooden floor boards. "Earl, take Thomas to the infirmary. Carl, this one goes in the room."

She turned her back, feeling Johnny's icy glare on her back. If she was a lesser woman she would be afraid but Jude feared no man and especially no devil.

"That boy does nothin' but test my patience." Jude ranted in her office while Sister Mary Ellen stood and listened. "God has sent him back to me to test me, I know it." She glanced up at the ceiling as if she were watching God himself sitting upon his kingdom.

"He hasn't been here a day and has already caused harm onto another child, Sister." Mary Ellen commented. The boy made her nervous. He was but a boy but there was a look in his eyes she had never seen on a child. It terrified her.

Jude walked behind her desk and put her hands down upon the wood. "That boy is a test of our love and our patience. Like I said before, the Lord sent him back to us alive and well. It's a sign."

Sister Mary Ellen grew silent. "She won't be back for him, you know, his mother."

"Of course she won't." Jude pushed away from the desk, "She rid herself of his troubles the day of his birth. He is our problem until he comes of age."

"Will we send him out to the public? I can't imagine what kind of man he will become."

"Have faith, Sister. We will get through to him and he will be a man of God. The devils that run through his veins won't be powerful for long. Our faith shall overcome."

Mary Ellen smiled, "You have so much faith in our Lord, Sister. You know best."

Jude sighed softly, "It is God that guides me. I am only a sheep in his flock."

"What should I order Carl to do?"

Jude thought for a moment, her expression stern. And then the tiniest hint of a smile perked the corners of her lips.

"Tell Carl to bring him to me."

The cane made a loud whipping sound that exploded through Jude's office. However, the boy did not cry out with every single blow that came upon his bare bottom. He kept his lips shut tight, eyes ahead, eyes fighting back the tears. He had taught himself not to cry. Not even when blood was being drawn. Jude had chosen a thick cane to flog him with. She had not been forgiving and Johnny had not returned the satisfaction. Alas, she stopped.

"Ya feel nothin', I see."

The boy was silent. His legs were shaking and a tear had escaped down his cheek but not a single sound.

"Put yer pants back on. Yer brighter than the moon."

Johnny turned to her with his pants down to his ankles. "I thought your kind like to fondle little boys." His voice shook from the pain he held deep inside.

Jude raised a brow, "Boy, you got quite the tongue. Get them up before ya regret it."

Johnny pulled his pants up without wincing once. However, Jude knew the pain was making his legs shake. He just refused to cry. She could only imagine what he had gone through outside of the walls of St. Jude to come back such a little monsters.

He had been such a sweet child with chubby cheeks and dimpled hands, clinging to her habit as she made her way through the institution. She could still see him at just four years old. His smile was the brightest.

Jude walked behind her desk. "Listen here, child. You are back under my roof and I suggest ya get used to it. Ya can't go around beatin' on others for no reason."

Johnny glanced away defiantly. He had a bruise on his cheek from his fight earlier that day. There was not a day that went by in where Jude did not see that child with a busted face. It was like he enjoyed the thrill of pain and violence. No wonder the system could not handle him. He was a menace and a threat. Only the power of God could save him.

"Ya owe the Walker boy an apology. That boy has never done anyone harm, poor thing. And here ya come with yer savage ways breakin' the peace I have worked so hard to establish here. No, not while I'm around. I will exorcise those demons if it is the last thing I do. Ya hear me?"

Johnny turned to her but only glared. No one had done anything to help or save him. Why was this nun any different?

Jude studied him over. She couldn't decide whom he reminded her of the most. The doctor or the reporter? She had sworn that Lana Winters had given him that look of defiance before but his thirst for violence had been clearly inherited from his father. Nothing good followed this child of rape. He clearly needed to be saved and Jude would be sure of it.

"Now, I suggest ya unclench those fists, boy. I won't be reckoned with." She shook a finger at him.

She had spanked him once when he was but a little child. He had cried then. Still no tears shed now. Jude had felt more guilty then than she did now.

He remained silent, the anger only clear in his eyes.

"Yes, ma'am." He lied through his teeth. If Johnny had learned anything from his time in the system was to lie and lie well. They would only go easy on him if they believed they had fixed him.

"Hmph. Alright then. Get out of my sight."

Johnny didn't hesitate and left the room where Carl was waiting to lead him back to his room.

There was never silence in St. Jude's. Johnny stood against the wall unable to sit down. He was annoyed but simmered in his own anger while the rest of the children went about their day. The French boy, Thomas had returned from the infirmary and was wearing his black and blues quite well. He looked at Johnny and sat down across the room from him without a word. Johnny said nothing. Instead he looked at the children he believed were too simple to know their true misery.

He leaned back and sulked to himself.

"She's insane…"

It was past three in the morning when Lana awoke in the middle of the night. She had dreamed again of the halls of Briarcliff. She could hear an infant's cries echoing through the halls but she could never find the source. She sat up and turned on the lamp on her nightstand.

She opened the drawer and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. The remorse was growing day by day. She could feel it slowly clawing its way out of her.

Lana lit the cigarette and inhaled in the smoke. "Son of a bitch…" she breathed it out, annoyed that another nights sleep had gone down the trash. "It never ends does it?"

She laid her head back on the headboard and thought to herself. She slept alone in the master bedroom of her large mansion like home. Her lies had brought her so far but Lana believed that her will to survive had brought her further. Alas, sacrificing the boy had sealed the fate she had always wanted. Still, the guilt had begun and there was no stopping it.

Lana put out her cigarette and reached over to a manilla folder, slipping the contents on the bed before her. A large black and white photograph slid out. Lana picked it up in her lean hands and studied it.

A group of various children ranging in multiple ages stood in front of a mansion like building accompanied by various nuns. There she stood in the middle. Tall and proud; Sister Jude. In front of her stood a small little boy around the age of four. Her hands were upon his shoulders. Her sources told her that was the boy she had inquired about. However, that was him but years ago. He was no longer that little boy. She didn't know who she would find when she looked.

Lana drifted her finger along the picture. "You don't look like him much, do you?" She lifted the picture closer, studying his innocent face. "No. You don't."


End file.
